


drifting.

by kauket_616



Series: neil josten is real. [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Nightmares, i hurt my own feelings when i wrote this, oh neil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-05-29 11:38:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15072377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kauket_616/pseuds/kauket_616
Summary: Neil Josten can help himself. Until he can’t. Until he crosses a line and he doesn’t know how to bring himself back. Because he hurt Andrew and--shit. He hurt Andrew. What more needed to be said?





	drifting.

Neil thinks patient-doctor confidentiality is bullshit. He thinks talking won’t help him. He knows he’s beyond that point. He won’t waste his or Betsy’s time. He can help himself.  
The panic attacks aren’t fun, but manageable. The dissociations are more frequent than he’d like but that’s okay. And what're a few nightmares?  
Neil Josten can help himself. Until he can’t. Until he crosses a line and he doesn’t know how to bring himself back. Because he hurt Andrew and-- _shit_. He hurt Andrew. What more needed to be said?  
#  
He was napping on the couch at 2 PM on a Tuesday. He didn’t sleep well last night. His dreams were of cramped trunks, red-tipped nails digging into his skin, and an all too familiar feminine laughter. He woke like he always did from these kinds of dreams: with wide eyes and a jackrabbit heart. He’s careful not to make a sound because Andrew is in the bunk above him, drawing deep, even breaths and that’s reason enough.  
Then it is morning and Andrew is shuffling towards the kitchen and Neil takes that for the kick in the ass that it inadvertently is. He shakes off the dream the best he can and goes through the motions.  
It was 2 PM on a Tuesday on the couch in his dorm that he has this dream. Though, dream just doesn’t seem like the right word. Nightmare seems fitting, but lacking. He knows it's not the same as the others because he doesn’t wake like he usually does. His eyes are wide, yes. And his heartbeat rivals a jackrabbit, yes. But the bile rising up his throat is something different. The shakiness of his limbs as he rushes to the bathroom is familiar in a way that he recognizes that it has never been this bad. His dry heaves over the toilet are desperate, but a relief. He wants it out, whatever vileness that resides in him, he wants it _out_. But it's not enough because of the Wesninski blood that flows through his veins and the darkness that seems to follow him wherever he goes.  
It was 3 PM on a Tuesday when Neil pounds on Betsy Dobson’s office door. She opens the door with a smile that fades when she takes in a disheveled Neil.  
It was 3:38 on a Tuesday and Neil still hasn’t said a word. He’s sitting on Betsy’s couch with limbs that still won’t stop shaking and the heels of his hands digging into his eyes. Not enough to hurt, but enough.  
“Betsy.” His voice is hoarse and scratchy.  
“Neil.” She pauses. “What happened?”  
His breath didn’t feel right in his lungs. “Betsy I-”.  
She doesn’t push, though Neil wishes she does because he doesn’t think he can bring himself to admit it.  
“I need help.”  
“Neil. Look at me.”  
He doesn’t do it right away, but he does. Drags his fists away from his face in a weary manner until he’s hunched over and his forearms are resting on his thighs.  
He looks at her and sees something that slices away that suspiciousness that his mother ingrained in him of any who bore the title doctor.  
“Betsy. There’s something wrong with me,” He swallows. “Very wrong.”  
“What is it?”  
“Betsy, I’m fucked up,” A breath shudders past his teeth. “I-”.  
“Why do you think that?”  
Neil shakes his head and he realizes he’s still shaking. He feels sick.  
“He’ll leave and he should.”  
“Who?”  
“I can’t be around him. I shouldn’t.”  
“Who is this about, Neil?”  
“I shouldn’t be around anybody really.” He opens and closes his fist. “I used to think it followed me. But maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s just me.”  
“It?”  
“Violence. Blood. Pain. It’s me. Or I draw it in or I follow it, but _fuck_ it is me.”  
“What brought this on, Neil?”  
He shakes his head slowly and its like he's making a wish, wishing that it wasn’t true, but it is. Because all the worst things were true and the good things were lies. Like Neil Josten. A pipedream. He sucks in a breath.  
“I had a dream. And I hurt him.” Neil squeezes his eyes shut. His voice is broken. “I made him say _please._ ”  
“You aren’t your nightmares, Neil.”  
He thinks of the blood that flows through his veins. “But I am. I am _IamIamIamIam_.”  
#  
“I can’t go home.”  
“I’ll call Wymack.”

**Author's Note:**

> andrew is probably gonna kick neil's ass at some point for not coming to him. things to look forward to...


End file.
